Title: Dimensionality

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Author's note: Don't worry if this chapter is confusing. See the title? Chaos? It's not supposed to make a whole lot of sense. Not yet, anyway. But it is a very important chapter. It has the clue to saving the world in it...

The Ninth Dimension: Chaos

What we call chaos is just patterns we haven't recognized. What we call random is just patterns we can't decipher.

- Chuck Palahnuik

"You bastard!"

He barely had time to think over what he was doing, and then his fist seemed almost to be flying through the air of its own accord, and Kyle went stumbling backwards, eyes widening with surprise and shock.

"Evans?"

"Hello, Valenti," Max growled, hands clenched into fists at his side.

Kyle blinked and glanced behind him into the house. Max followed his gaze and saw a little girl hovering in the doorway to the room, watching the entire altercation with an open mouth. She couldn't have been more than five years old, and he felt almost guilty for hitting her father in front of her.

Almost.

"Abby, can you go back into the kitchen and continue eating?" Kyle asked quietly. "Daddy needs to take care of something, but I'll be there in a moment. Alright?"

The girl, Abby, nodded slowly and apprehensively, twirling a few strands of loose hair around her fingers. She cast a look over her shoulders as she walked back into the kitchen, her light eyes clearly showing her bewilderment and fear.

Once she was gone, Kyle said dryly, "Would you like to come in?" He stepped aside and allowed Max to enter the house, those his gaze never wavered from the hybrid king, clearly expecting to be attacked again.

This isn't right, Max thought as he entered the house. What am I doing here? Why am I mad at Kyle? It was odd, as though all his actions were out of his control, and yet he was the one going through the motions.

Why?

"How are Michael and Isabel? Alex? Liz?" he heard Kyle ask, but he could barely focus on the words.

Still, he opened his mouth and answered, "Isabel's dead." It was a snarl, cold and furious, and he raised his clenched fist as though to hit his one-time friend again.

Kyle side-stepped the blow that never came and said softly, "I'm so sorry."

Something twisted in Max's chest. Kyle wasn't sorry. Kyle couldn't be sorry, because if he had actually cared about any of them, he wouldn't have…

Wouldn't have what?

"But you can't think I had anything to do with that?" Kyle continued with a frown.

Max blinked.

He'd left the others. They'd been in Roswell, and he'd left. He'd written a note and slipped away in the middle of the night, not wanting to tell anyone where he was going, not wanting to worry about them trying to talk him out of this, trying to tell him he shouldn't be here.

Isabel was dead, and Kyle…

"No, Khivar killed her," Max snapped, taking a step forward. "You just sold us out to the FBI."

Kyle raised his eyebrows. "Liz told you." It was not a question.

"So you admit it?" Max demanded.

"Do I admit that I did everything in my power to save my daughter from meeting the same fate as her mother?" Kyle shot back. "Yes, I do admit to that."

Right. That's it. That's what happened, Max thought frantically, shoving the pieces of the puzzle into place. The FBI had killed Kyle's wife, and had threatened Kyle's daughter. To keep the girl – Abby – safe, Kyle had…

"You told them about the pod chamber," Max snapped.

"I told them about the one thing they'll never be able to enter, Max. It could have been worse. I could have told them all about you and everything you had done. I could have…"

"You still sold us out," Max interrupted, rage boiling, temper rising, fury smoldering on his features.

"They killed my wife," Kyle hissed. "They threatened my daughter. I did what I had to in order to keep her safe." Max vaguely noticed that Kyle was breathing heavily, that his eyes were bright and filled with pain. What was his wife's name? Jenni? Had Max ever met her? He couldn't remember, and now she was dead, and he should have felt some sorrow for that, but he didn't. Couldn't.

"So that justifies it? Isabel is dead!"

"But not because of me," Kyle retorted angrily. "I didn't lead the skins to her."

Max glared at Kyle, knowing that the human was right. Kyle had nothing to do with Isabel's death. Khivar had been after her for years, and whether or not Kyle had worked with the FBI, Isabel would have died. But he was unwilling to accept that truth, not when Kyle was standing there, an easy scapegoat.

After all, he had still put them in grave danger.

"How do you sleep at night?" Max asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

This wasn't right, he thought to himself. This wasn't… this wasn't his life. Kyle married Tess. Kyle didn't sell them out to the FBI. And Max didn't attack him, didn't get so worked up, so moved by his own rage that he could barely see straight. This wasn't right.

So what hat happened?

Kyle answered coldly, "How do you sleep, Max? How do you live with yourself knowing that you've ruined so many lives? How many people have paid for your mistakes? My father lost his job because of you, Tess and Jennifer lost their lives because of you. And Maria and your mother… they would both still be alive if you hadn't…"

He never got to finish the sentence. Max raised his hand and sent Kyle flying through the air. He crashed heavily into the wall and fell to the ground, momentarily stunned.

It took all of Max's willpower not to kill Kyle at that moment. Instead, he said in a deadly serious voice, "Talk to the FBI again, Kyle, and you'll join your wife." Then he turned and walked from the house, slamming the front door behind him.

He stormed away, practically running down the sidewalk, and why? What was he running from? The argument with Kyle? Isabel's death? All of the people he hadn't been able to save? His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest, beating out a frantic rhythm filled with his own helpless rage at the situation, and all he could think of, all he knew…

…was that this wasn't right.

The scene seemed to twist, to fade, and he was suddenly standing in the middle of a small motel room, facing an irate Michael. He didn't know what had happened or how he had gotten their, and he thought perhaps it was odd that time had worked like this. Time wasn't supposed to move so rapidly, and with such disconnect…

Was it?

"You just left, Maxwell," Michael snarled.

"I left a note," Max replied carelessly. He was exhausted, drained of all energy. The fight had left him, though his knuckles still throbbed from when he had hit Kyle. And when he glanced down at his hand, he felt a slight, momentary desire to do it again.

"Do you have any idea how worried we were?" Liz asked, her tone encompassing anger, frustration, and relief. "How could you do this?"

Max turned a frosty glare towards his wife. "How could you wait so long to tell me what you knew about Kyle?" he demanded in reply.

"Because I was trying to keep you from doing something stupid!" Liz shot back, flushed.

"Nice job," Michael cut in sarcastically.

"Guys, arguing isn't going to help us," Alex spoke up softly, and Max shot him a look. Alex was the voice of reason, the calm and logical one who was forever reminding them that they were a family. His face had crumpled over the past few days, Isabel's death hit him hard. And Max saw a note of despair in his eyes. But he was still the same underneath the grief, still professing the same beliefs. "What matters now is that everyone is safe."

"Yeah, no thanks to our fearless leader," Michael snapped. He turned and stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. Max heard his footsteps pounding on the carpeted hall before disappearing into another motel room.

"We were worried, Max," Liz murmured, reaching out and hesitantly placing a hand on Max's arm. He turned and looked at her, his glare melting into a sad smile. Liz was blinking back tears as she whispered whispered, "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

"I know," Max acknowledged her fear with a nod. "I'm sorry, I was just so…" He let the sentence drift off, not knowing what to say.

Isabel had left.

Hadn't he known all along that she would?

He'd seen it in her eyes as she sat beside him in the van. She would look out at the road, and he knew that she was thinking of running. Of escaping. So many times he had started to say something, and yet…

And yet he didn't.

Couldn't.

He would comfort her at night when the nightmares woke her, when she threatened to wake the entire motel with her screams. They'd all come running into her room, Max and Liz followed closely by Michael and Maria. Kyle usually got their first with Jenni right behind him.

But what comfort could he truly offer when they all knew that he couldn't protect her from the dreams?

Most of the time, when her eyes first snapped open and she managed to throw off the metaphorical chains of her dreams, she would ask for Jesse. An instinct, trying hard to hold onto the one person that would not come running into the room anymore. And Max would have to remind her, as gently as he could, that Jesse didn't live with them. Jesse was in Boston.

She was alone.

Sometimes she cried out for Alex, and that was even harder. At least Jesse was alive. At least she was the one who had told Jesse to stay away from her, to stay somewhere safe. A place where he could be happy. At least she could derive some comfort from that.

But Alex…?

Alex was gone, and now Isabel had left as well.

Oh, she was still there. Physically. She still looked the same, though her eyes were perhaps a shade darker and her expression slightly colder. She was still there, but…

But she was Vilandra now.

"Isabel," Max started, reaching out towards her. It was a strange sort of déjà vu, a faint memory of her wedding day. It had been the same then. Khivar had been at her side, and Max and Michael had been trying to rescue her. It hadn't worked, though. In the end, Jesse had been the one to save her.

But Jesse wasn't here.

No. No, this wasn't right. Isabel married Alex. And Khivar didn't turn her into Vilandra. He… he…

Killed her, Max thought. Khivar killed her. He didn't want her at his side anymore. He used her to get to me. Used her, because he knew how much it would hurt when she died.

This wasn't right. This wasn't real.

And yet, it was real. It was someone's reality. Just not his.

"I told you not to follow me, Max," Isabel said, her voice pure ice. She didn't attack him, but she made no move to join him. She stood away from them, surveying her brother with an unemotional gaze.

"You're my sister! I can't leave you," Max protested, a frenzied panic in his tone. Behind him, he heard Michael utter some other comment, something similar.

"I'm Khivar's wife, not your sister," Isabel answered simply.

Isabel was gone.

She'd left them. The dreams had become too much, and she'd left. Left to find Khivar. Max didn't know why. What did she think would happen? Did she really think that he would stop, or was she simply so terrified, so drained, that she had taken any opportunity to get out?

"I could have protected you," Max whispered.

It was a lie. He couldn't have protected her. He'd proven that all the nights he was forced to stand helplessly by her side as she sobbed out her fears. But still…

She shouldn't have left. She shouldn't have left him.

I've made my choice, Max," she said softly. She looked past him towards Michael, and he wished he could say he saw something in her eyes. Some tiny remnant of Isabel. But it wasn't there. She wasn't there, and when she looked back at him and spoke, he heard Vilandra echoed in her words. "And I don't need your protection. Not anymore."

"No. No. This wasn't right. He wasn't supposed to be here. This wasn't happening, this hadn't happened. Isabel… Isabel was dead. Not as Vilandra. Not… not this. This scene, this horrific scenario had not happened.

Not that her death was much better.

But still…

He had to think. He had to figure out what had happened. He had to…

"Khivar isn't your family, Isabel," Michael said stoutly. "I don't care what lies he has told you. He isn't your family. We are. Max and I."

His words hung in the silence that stretched between them.

She didn't care.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said finally, turning away from him. "But Khivar might not be so generous. You need to leave, Max. And not come back."

It was Courtney.

But how? What had she done? What had happened…?

He tried to grasp onto the memory of her, tried to keep himself latched onto the reality, his reality, and yet…

"How could you do this to us?" Isabel asked softly, watery gaze fixed on Tess.

Tess lowered her eyes. "I… I just…" She wasn't able to finish, and Max felt the urge to reach out and shake her. Why wouldn't she talk, why would she just explain everything? How could she have lied to them for so long?

How could she have kept his son away for five years?

"You've been on Earth for five years, Tess," Isabel continued, and Max saw the tears and wanted to hug her, wanted to console her. "You've been free from Khviar for half a decade. Why didn't you come to us and tell us the truth?"

Memories of Alex still lingered in the room, and even now that he had seen the truth, even now that he knew why Alex was dead… he couldn't help but look at Tess and hate her for what she had done to them. They had spent so long thinking of her as a murderer, as a traitor. She wasn't a murderer… but she had still betrayed them.

And yet, the little voice in his mind whispered, hadn't they betrayed her as well?

"You know the truth, Isabel," Tess said, looking over at Max. He met her gaze as she continued, "Max saw what happened in those flashes. He saw me kill Alex."

Her words were blunt, her tone firm. She left nothing open for argument.

But Maria argued anyway, "Why do you keep insisting on that? Why do you keep trying to convince us that you killed him? Are you proud of that?"

Tess looked as though she wouldn't answer, so they all waited. Max needed to hear what she would say, needed to know how she felt about what had happened. He'd seen enough in the flashes when he healed her…

Wait.

This wasn't right.

Courtney. He needed to focus on Courtney.

But Tess was speaking, and he had to listen…

"Because I did kill him." She swallowed nervously. "You talk about it like it somehow makes it all better that I wasn't in control of my body. Do you really think that changes anything? I can still tell you, Maria, exactly what it felt like when Alex's mind suddenly stopped working. I can describe to you the sensation of being connected with his mind the moment it melted into nothing. The sudden stopping of his heart, the fear radiating from him in great waves, the anger and despair I felt every time I entered his mind… He died thinking I did this to him of my own free will. He died hating me. He… he died, and I remember the look on his face when he fell, shock… as though he couldn't quite believe that this had happened…"

"Stop it!" Isabel cried, suddenly, turning away from the group. "Stop it. I don't want to hear any more."

Max clenched his hands into fists.

"You see?" Tess whispered. "You can't even stand to hear about it. I remember it. Every single detail. You think it matters who was controlling me? I still killed Alex, and I still remember exactly what it felt like when he died. It was my fault."

"Tess…"

"I couldn't fight Nicolas, Rath, or Lonnie. I tried, believe me. I didn't want… I didn't want to do what they were saying. But… they made me do it and I…" Her voice broke and she shook her head, unable to continue.

"It would have made a difference to us," Isabel said as Tess lapsed into silence. "It does make a difference, to know that you aren't responsible. Do you know what it did to all of us after you left? Do you know what Max went through, thinking his son was with a murderer, a traitor? Do you know what happened to Jim and Kyle after you left them? Don't you understand… it mattered to us."

And the memories of Courtney slipped away…

"So that's it?" Alex asked, blue eyes sparkling with fury as he advanced on Max. "You're just going to sit around and do nothing? Isabel's dead!"

Max drew a sharp breath at Alex's anger, but did not flinch. He refused to back down, refused to give the other man the satisfaction of knowing just how much those words, that veiled accusation, had hurt him.

"I know," Max said evenly. "I know she's dead, I…" He shook his head as though to clear his troubled, conflicted, horrified thoughts. He couldn't say it, couldn't but his emotions into words. It was just too hard, and every time he tried to speak his throat grew dry, as though it was lined with cotton. As though Isabel's death had taken away his ability to speak.

"Then why are you acting like it doesn't even matter? Like we shouldn't do something about it?"

The air in the room was stuffy. He could hear footsteps moving on the floor above him. The soft patter of a child, running up and down the hallway. He knew Tess was probably up there as well, keeping an eye on their son.

"What do you want me to say, Alex? How would going after Khivar now, when we are at weakest, still trying to regroup… how would that help? How is that a good idea?"

How many times had they had this argument? How many times would they continue to have it? Sometimes someone else would come to his defense – usually Tess, but occasionally Liz as well – but now it seemed as though he was truly on his own. Tess was busy with their son, and Liz wasn't around.

She hadn't been around in a while. Not since that first attack on her two years ago, the one that had cost Maria her life. The Liz that had been left behind after that was a shell, a shadow of her former self. Whereas Maria's death had turned Michael into a hurricane of furious energy, it had sapped the last of Liz's strength, leaving her weak and fragile.

"Isabel wouldn't have just done nothing if it was you," Alex hissed. Splotches of color appeared on his cheeks, deep red that stood out in angry contrast to the normally pale sheen of his skin. "Is the situation was reversed," he continued, "she would have gone after Khivar. She would have avenged…"

"Then she would have gotten herself killed," Max interrupted, "and that is the last thing I would have wanted." He turned away from Alex, wondering if the movement could somehow convey his utter disdain for the other man. He had liked Alex once, like him enough to be pleased that he was marrying Isabel. But without Isabel…

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He didn't like this Alex. He didn't like the man who had turned out to be a stranger - angry, reckless, and cold as ice.

"I've already lost Maria, Kyle, and Isabel. I won't keep losing people," he said in a hard tone.

"Because you're afraid?" Alex sneered.

"Yes!" Max exploded, whirling around to face Alex. Tawny eyes met blue eyes with a livid gaze as Max continued, "Of course I am afraid! I'd be a fool not to feel that way. Khivar terrifies me and I…"

I don't know how to do this without Isabel.

He didn't say the words, but they hovered on the tip of his tongue, ready to come spilling out. Tears pricked at his eyes, leaving behind a burning sensation.

He needed Isabel. Just like he had needed Liz. But Liz had left, first because she believed that he belonged with Tess, and then again because of Maria's death. And maybe the second leaving with metaphorical, maybe she was still physically here, but it wasn't the same. And he needed them by his side.

All he really had left at this point was Tess and Michael. Michael, who was still grieving for Maria, who continued to grieve for her until the end of time. And Tess, who loved him, but had long since realized that when he looked at her, he thought of Liz. Tess, who was stuck in a less-than-perfect marriage, stuck being second best to the father of her own son.

They were falling apart, and he desperately needed Isabel.

"So you're going to let your fear keep you from doing what is right?" Alex demanded furiously.

"Do you really think this is right? Sending all of us to our deaths? Do you think it is what Isabel would have wanted?" Max countered.

Isabel had sacrificed herself in some misguided attempt to keep them all safe. She'd gone to Khivar, and Max still didn't fully understand why. Did she think she could trick him, get him to let his guard down and then permanently stop him? Or was it that she knew the repeated attacks were because of her, because Khivar was still trying desperately to bring her back, and she thought that the further away she was from all the people she loved, the safer they would be.

Max didn't know why she'd left. He wished he knew, wished he could understand it, wished he had more to remember of those last few moments than the image of her battered, broken body sprawled out on the ground - an image that would be forever etched into his mind.

"I think we're at war," Alex answered, moving away from Max, heading towards the door. "And I think you wish so badly that things were different that you won't face up to the reality that this is our life now." And he stormed from the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

It would be several hours later, while he and Tess sat side-by-side at the dinner table, eating in dismal silence, that Michael would come storming into the room to tell them that Alex was gone, that he had decided to go after Khivar by himself.

They never saw him again.

It was dark.

Sunset had passed, and the sky was inky black, dotted with the light of a thousand tiny white stars. He could see the outline of the compound below him, a mass of thin lines and sharp angles barely illuminated by the pale moon.

He heard Liz pacing behind him, her feet treading softly on the stone roof of the stronghold. He'd ordered the other solders to leave them alone, and they'd withdrawn, somewhat reluctantly. He knew many were curious as to his relationship with Liz, a woman they had never seen before, a human who treated him was familiarity.

"Max?"

He turned to look at her. "Where have you been?" he asked gruffly, his voice hoarse.

Years. He hadn't seen her in years.

But her presence had always been there, lingering. The deaths had come, first Maria, then Isabel. Shortly after Kyle had disappeared, probably taken by the FBI. So now it was just him and Michael, just the two of them left in this war, just the two of them trying to lead…

And now Liz was here. Now Liz was back.

"I don't know if you've noticed, Max, but the world has pretty much gone to hell," Liz answered, coming towards him. If she expected a smile, expected to be welcomed back with open arms, she would be sorely disappointed.

He didn't say anything.

"I didn't know you were…" she trailed off, sounding unsure, a little lost as to how to proceed. "I didn't know you were behind all this. I thought…" She chewed her lip nervously.

It was a gesture that reminded Max so much of Isabel that he had to look away.

"This is a military, Max. You're running it like…"

"Like what, Liz?" he asked sharply, eyes narrowed at her. It didn't take much to make him angry these days, but he was usually better able to keep his temper under control. Something about Liz was cutting through his defenses, like it always did, and leaving him feeling vulnerable.

He didn't like it.

He had loved her once. He still loved her, though he tried not to.

"Like a dictatorship," Liz said finally, expelling the accusation into the air between them.

"Well," he answered, lips twisted into an ironic smirk, "I am the king." He moved away from her, and didn't bother to look back. He didn't need to look to know she was following him. He could still sense her presence, eve after all this time. It stayed with him, that familiar feeling, like some sort of magnetic connection.

She was the other half. His other half.

"This isn't you," Liz protested. She grabbed his arm, fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist. But there was no flash, no burst of anything. No sizzle of chemistry.

Just that same ache in his chest, that same hollow feeling that melted through him when he thought of her.

"You don't know what is me and what isn't," he said coldly.

"I know I was never afraid of you before," Liz answered, and he heard the pain and accusation in her voice.

It hurt more than he wanted it to, even after all these years, to hear that she was afraid of him. But things had been different then, and he wasn't the boy she once knew. He'd accepted that truth a long time ago.

Resolutely, he said, "We're fighting a war. I do what I can to stay alive." When he looked at her, she dropped his arm and drew back, disappointment written all over his features. "You have been here in years, Liz, and you have no right to judge me now. Not when you missed so much of our lives."

"Max, look around!" she pleaded, desperation layered in her voice. "Look at yourself. Look at what you've done, what you've become." She stepped back, holding her arms out wide, gesturing to the rest of the compound. "You're running this like a military. People out there are afraid of you. Humans and aliens alike. They don't know what you are, they don't know who you are. You shroud yourself in mystery, in shadows, and force them all to fight a battle they don't even…"

"I didn't choose this," Max hissed, interrupting her. "I didn't choose this life. I didn't choose for Khivar to come after us. But he did come, and look at what he's taken. Look at what we've lost because of him."

"It's chaos out there," Liz whispered, tears pooling in her eyes. "The world has become something I don't recognize… and so have you."

He looked up at the moon. Once, he had believed that he could be with Liz. He had reassured her, over and over, that the differences in their DNA didn't matter. That his destiny with Tess didn't matter. That he loved her, and nothing could keep them apart.

He wished he could go back in time, travel to a point when he actually believed that. When the world was really that simple.

It wasn't simple here.

There was no more black and white. He lived in the shades of gray that filled every moment of his life. He lived in the reality of this war, a reality that had stolen everything from him, including his own sense of morals, of right and wrong. There was only survival here, only existence. Only the desperate desire to stay alive, stay afloat, no matter how cruel or bloody.

And that was the problem. That would be the barrier that forever stretched between himself and Liz now. She could still see the world the way it was before the war, but she was blind to the harsh reality of the world as it existed now. And he could only see the world as it was now, having long since forgotten the way things used to be.

"The Max Evans I knew would not do this," Liz said simply, a final attempt to get him to see her point of view.

But he wouldn't. Couldn't.

He'd lost too much.

"The Liz Parker I knew would never have walked away from her friends and not once bothered to look back."

Hurt reflected in her brown eyes. "I did! After everything… when the attacks first happened in New York, I tried to reach you. But you'd left Roswell, and no one knew where you were. I kept looking for you… but… it was too late, I guess. You were gone."

His gaze was hard as he said without flinching, "You're right Liz. It is too late."

And he turned and walked away from her, leaving her standing on the roof of the compound underneath the night sky, alone.

"…wake up yet…?"

"Should we… help… for him…"

"Too risky."

"…worried."

"He'll be okay…"

There were several voices, and they floated around him, growing louder and softer and then louder again with every passing second. He couldn't focus on them, couldn't understand the words. They washed over him like waves of gibberish, leaving him with the sensation of being lost. Alone.

Surrounded.

He tried to force his eyes open, but the light was too bright, and he instantly snapped them shut, and automatic move to protect himself. Colors burst behind his closed lids, and a muffled groan escaped his lips.

"Max?"

That voice he recognized, though it took him a long time to place it. After what seemed like forever, though, he was able to conjure up an image of dark brunette hair and gentle brown eyes, and he whispered, "Liz?"

"It's alright… safe now…"

The voice, Liz's voice, rose and fell. He could only half hear what he was saying, and he struggled to listen more closely, to pick apart the murmur of indecipherable syllables. He wanted to open his eyes and look at her, see her. He wanted…

"Yo, Maxwell. You in there?"

Michael's harsh, jarring voice cut into his thoughts and without thinking, he opened his eyes. The bright light hit him again, but this time he struggled through it, refusing to slip back into the cool darkness of his own mind. Shapes moved all around him, and he blinked several times as they slowly swam into focus.

He was lying on the sofa in Michael's apartment. Liz was perched on the edge of the cushions next to him, a worried expression gracing her features. Michael was standing behind the sofa, one arm draped somewhat protectively over Maria's shoulders. On the other side of Michael stood Tess, blue eyes reflecting a mixture of apprehension and cold anger.

"What… what happened?" he asked, licking dry lips and struggling to understand how he had ended up like this. Everything was a blur, too many memories floating around in his mind, and the how's and why's didn't quite seem to add up.

"I was going to ask you the same thing," Michael replied, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "I came in and you were unconscious on the floor, bleeding at your right shoulder."

Max twisted his head to the side, and noted with some embarrassment that he was shirtless. His right shoulder was bandaged, but he could see, underneath the top layer of gauze, that blood had already spread out across the inner dressing.

Courtney, smirking at him… a flash of light… pain…

"Courtney," Max muttered, pushing himself into a sitting position and wincing slightly at the throbbing ache in his shoulder. His arm felt strangely numb below the elbow, but he could move his fingers, which he supposed was a good sign.

"Courtney did this?" Maria demanded. "I thought you said we could trust her."

"I thought we could," Max answered honestly, ignoring the slight tinge of gloating in Maria's voice. He didn't have the time or energy to deal with her continual jealousy, or Michael's somewhat lousy decision-making.

"Careful," Liz murmured, helping him ease into a sitting position. Her skin was warm against his, and it was then that he realized that he was shivering with cold.

"Courtney wasn't here when you came back?" Max asked, twisting to look at Michael as he leaned back against the sofa.

Michael walked around so that he was facing Max, Maria and Tess following behind him. "No," Michael answered with a firm shake of his head. "It was just you."

"But why would Courtney go to all the trouble of attacking you and then just leave?" Tess asked curiously, taking a seat opposite Max. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, her eyes fixed on the hybrid King, only sparing the briefest glance for Liz. There was tension in the air, a tension that was giving Max a headache.

"Did she do something to you?" Liz asked tentatively. Now that Max was fully awake and coherent, she seemed a bit more tentative, as though just realizing how close she was to him. She was drawing back, pulling away from him, and he had to fight back the urge to grab her wrists and not let her leave.

A moment later, she stood up and moved to a different chair.

"Did she do something to you?" Maria questioned, repeating Liz's question.

Max's head was still vibrating with thousands of thoughts, like flies or bees all trying to find a way out of his mind. The pressure was increasing, and he slowly reached up and rubbed his temples, willing the pain away. It didn't work, not completely, and he let out a slow breath of frustration.

"Maxwell!"

His eyes moved automatically towards Michael, who was clearly not thrilled that Liz and Maria's question had been ignored.

"I don't know," Max muttered. "I don't know if she did something. I don't know why she would have… I just… don't know."